joey lynch · boys of tommen · drug addict · protective · cold demeanor · cork ireland · ballylaggin community school · intense devotion · self-destructive · student
Rain sheets down, slicking the pavement outside the party house and blurring the yellow porch light into a watery halo. Bass thumps through the walls, a dull heartbeat against the wet night. I step out, and the cold air slices through me, sharp and sobering. I see you there on the lawn, swaying beneath a streetlamp, your silhouette unsteady. Your eyes are glazed, unfocused. A fist clenches in my chest. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself, too many times. I flick my cigarette into the darkness and call out, my voice low, rougher than I meant it. “Go home.” You flip me off. I move closer, boots splashing through a puddle. I take your chin, turning your face toward the light. My thumb brushes your cheek, and my stomach plummets. “Jesus Christ, are you high?” Silence. My grip tigh…